Argetlam remembered watching in dull horror as Willow had disappeared from sight, buried in the earth that was part of her heritage. Lineage? They had been eager to leave from the Basin- well, at least the metal-bender was. He didn't like the grumpy stallion, glass-horned who had met them, or the frosty white stallion spotted with black, just the owl that kept him companion. Neither did he have respect for them. He might've, if they had kept dragons as companions, or found one to cherish. But they didn't, and so they did not command any more respect than he gave to anyone he met. It was disappointing, that he had not seen one dragon yet. In fact, one could say it nearly broke his sweet giant heart. So he had been bouncing ahead, and coming back, until she was lost in the earth and he, in confusion, watched from afar as a wizened old mare appeared with two young stallions, gathered her up, and dragged her away.

It had taken him many long minutes to gather his courage as he watched the tree-horse being borne away. Time trickled past, first slowly, than quicker and quicker, as the umber mare he had accompanied nearly disappeared on the horizon. His throat dry, his heart pounding, Argetlam began to canter, the steady pulse of metal, sometimes growing muffled or louder on how deep it was buried inside the earth, giving him strength. Yet when they had entered the forest, he lost track of them, and roamed desperately, searching widely for the trace of Willow. It had taken longer than he had hoped to find her, and worry was gnawing at his heart.

When nightfall had begun its change to day, he had found her, or rather saw a log across the ground. The log was Willow's tree, parallel to the ground; and she appeared to be sleeping. Relieved, exuberant, he had nearly burst out of the dense brush he was behind, to run to her flank and awaken her. I propose invasion. Argetlam inhaled so sharply and so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if someone heard him, and shifted his weight, sending the bushes crackling in his usual clumsiness. Wise. Another voice, deeper, unmistakably male. Then a chiding Ophelia. Who was Ophelia? Was she behind the herd members being stolen?

I think I'm going to be sick. Argetlam heaved, shaking, trembling, terrified.

Naturally, the thing that drew him out into the open was a flash of silver scales, the elusive dragon he had been looking for. A puppy goaded by a treat, he burst out into the open, mane tangled, tail knotted, eyes wide. A dragon! Argetlam could've danced for joy, pranced and done a jig. Silver-scaled, red-fringed, sparkling in the dim lighting of the shadowed forest, running a claw through Willow's soft mane. Oh the gods. So many weeks later, so many hours of searching restlessly for one, and finally there was a dragon. Too late did Argetlam realize what a precarious position he had placed himself in. One could say he had a "mild" obsession with dragons- was it any surprise he lost all sense of caution?

"Oh gods, a dragon!" Argetlam sighed, soft amber eyes riveted on the little silver creature.